The Portrait of Albus Dumbledore
by writergirl1985
Summary: The story of how Albus Dumbledore's portrait came into being. One-shot. This is my first story published. Reviews encouraged and welcome!  Title changed from The Story of Albus Dumbledore


_Disclaimer: I own nothing. J.K. Rowling is the queen of everything Harry Potter, and I am humbled that I am allowed to play in her world. Also, I'm not making any profit from this. *Sigh*_

The Maker looked on in disbelief as he watched Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore crash through the window, and fall. It seemed to take a lifetime for him to reach his destination, and when he finally did he hit the ground bouncing slightly, in a very ungainly manner completely unbefitting to the wise old man he had become. The Maker knew Albus' end would come, he just hadn't expected it to be so soon, and at the hands of Death Eaters! Well, Severus Snape wasn't a Death Eater, but the Maker would be the last person to admit to that. It wasn't his place to meddle in the affairs of others. He was here to make portraits.

The Maker advanced toward the fallen body of the late Headmaster. He noticed his surroundings were surprisingly quiet, seeing as Death-Eaters (real ones, this time) were at this very moment invading the school and causing terror all around. When he had reached his destination, the Maker knelt down next to the old wizard, and pulled out a folded piece of parchment, placing it gently next to the body.

He placed his hand on the wizard's heart, muttered a few words, then moved it to Dumbledore's forehead. The wizard then took his wand, drew a collection of circles and figures in the air, and watched patiently as silver streams rose like smoke from Dumbledore's body. The Maker waited for the silver strands to collect, and breathed a sigh of relief as they started forming a shape, a figure… and there! He saw it.

The face, then the whole body, of Albus Dumbledore smiling back at him.

Every time he knew what would happen, and every time it thrilled him.

"It is good to see you, Albus," the Maker said, "I was worried you wouldn't form in time."

"Everything takes time, but I'd really rather this be over before everybody gets here."

The two men, one flesh and one memories, looked down at the body lying on the ground.

"Just one question," Dumbledore said.

_Here it comes,_ the Maker thought, _the same question, every time…_

"My soul, is it… will it, pass on? And will it… will _I _know, when I'm there…" For the first time in a very long time, Dumbledore looked as a child, worry stretched over his face.

"Will you remember what happened?" The Maker finished his question. Dumbledore nodded.

"I have taken your body's memories," he said, indicating the silver strands floating in the air, "But the soul, it's still there, and those memories never fade."

"So, I have two sets of memories?"

"Yes. They are essentially the same, copies of each other. The soul, however… well, it may remember some things your body doesn't."

"Like what?"

The Maker suddenly realized that he had thought Dumbledore would have been different from the others. He had somehow, foolishly, led himself to believe that Albus, of all people, would have been the one to answer these questions for himself. But the Maker realized that behind the brilliance, strength, and wisdom of this man, there was still a young boy, afraid of making the wrong choices, making choices he hoped would save his sister, choices he hoped would redeem himself, and ultimately all others around him. The Master answered kindly, however. Being dead, when one is not used to it, is jarring to say the least. And every single person he had made a portrait of, no matter how brave, intelligent or kind, had each reverted to this childlike behavior once in memory form; he just hadn't expected it from Dumbledore.

"Take reincarnation. If you've lived a previous life, _you _wouldn't remember it, but your _soul_ would."

"I still think I was one of the Montgolfier brothers in the 1700's…" Albus said dreamily.

The Maker laughed, _he wasn't too far off there, _he thought to himself. Albus was surprised by the Maker's reaction, but then he himself felt his lips curve in an upwards smile, and chuckled openly.

"Ridiculous, I know. But sometimes, I just _wonder._"

The Maker looked at him. "Are you ready?"

"I suppose there's nothing left for me here," Albus said, looking down at his body.

The Maker readied his wand for the final enchantment.

"Wait," cried Dumbledore, "I almost forgot… there's a locket in my breast pocket. It needs to be found by Harry Potter."

"I will see to it." There were always final requests from the Memories, and the Maker was pleased that this was one he could fulfill. With a final nod, he pointed his wand towards the silver strands that had attached themselves to Dumbledore's form.

"Also, can you make sure there's lemon drops?"

The Maker smiled as he spoke the incantation. Dumbledore's silver shape disintegrated, as the memories started to swirl, faster and faster until they had amassed in a silvery ball. With a final word, he flicked his wand from the Memories to the parchment which had been laid down on the ground. "_Animus Asylum_" The silver ball threw itself towards the parchment, and vanished when it collided. The Parchment levitated itself for a moment, turning into a bright gold, then after a moment, it landed back on ground, looking like nothing more than a large piece of paper.

He remembered Dumbledore's first request before he left the scene. He reached into Albus' breast pocket, and pulled out a locket with the Slytherin logo on it. It was the replacement locket for the horcrux that had been found so many years ago by Regulus Black. The Maker was, for the first time in a very long time, surprised. He placed it in Albus' openly stretched hand, and then folded the stiffening fingers around it. It was barely visible, but if he knew Harry, the Maker was sure he would come close enough to find it.

He saw the first few figures exiting the castle and running towards Dumbledore._ My cue to leave. _No-one living really knew who he was, or what he did. Sure they saw him every now and then in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, but they didn't _know_. He planned to keep it that way. Securing the parchment that held Dumbledore's memories in his robes, he walked away slipping through the shadows. It had been silent up until now, but he could hear the screams getting louder. This was definitely not the place for him.

He apparated home, and placed the parchment on the table, unfolding and spreading it out. He muttered a spell to vanish the creases. There would be multiple large portraits of Dumbledore, at the Ministry of Magic, St. Mungo's, and, of course, Howarts.

The Maker set to work. He started by painting a comfy chair for the Hogwarts portrait. He placed a small round table in front of the chair's left arm, and continued painting a glass bowl, with lemon drops. Being a magical portrait, the lemon drops would never run out. A fact the Maker was sure Albus would appreciate. He finished the Hogwarts portrait, and then went on to the Ministry and St. Mungo's portrait. In either one, there were different aspects and surroundings, but in the end they each had a comfy chair, and a glass bowl full of lemon drops.

His final task was to paint Albus himself. He looked at the parchment, and muttered the spell that would wake Albus' memories. _"Anima Nascere_." He would let the memories guide his brush, and between Dumbledore and himself, he would paint the portrait. Albus appeared sitting on the chair of the portrait that would belong in the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts.

"Hello?" Albus asked, uncertainly,

"I'm here, Albus." The Maker said, gently. Albus looked up at the face of the Maker, and sighed in relief.

"I must say I'm still quite disoriented."

"You will be for a short while longer, until your memories re-align themselves. You've had a long journey. How do you feel?"

Albus looked at his right hand. It was no longer black and dead. He moved his fingers. "My hand… it's… alive!" The Maker looked at him, amused. "I mean, well, I'm not … alive, but my hand, it's not dead!"

The Maker smiled. Dumbledore's reaction had been like that of a child who'd been offered all the sweets in the world. He was glad Albus would be able to feel joy again, even if it was in the correct coloring of his hand.

"Your hand is just the way it should be. You are the way you remember yourself, Albus. Obviously the curse was never a part of you. It's what killed you in the end, sure, but it's never determined who you are."

There was a silence as Albus closed his eyes to try and regroup. He had died, he remembered that part well. He was thankful Severus had been merciful and killed him quickly. He wondered for a moment if it hadn't been selfish of him to ask to die sooner than he would have without the killing curse… if only he hadn't put on that damned ring! But no. He shook these thoughts out of his head. If Severus hadn't killed him, young Malfoy would have, and if not him, then Bellatrix. And everyone knew Bella liked to play around with her prey first. He was also grateful that he had been a part of leaving Draco's soul untarnished. It was the least he could do for the boy, after everything he'd been through. And this way, Severus would have a little more time to spy and learn of Voldemort's plans. Harry and the others wouldn't have to watch him die a miserable death, and Albus wouldn't have to suffer through it. So yes, a part of his death had been selfish, but that couldn't be helped. He was glad that by dying he had offered salvation for others. _There I am, being noble again… _Only this time, he wasn't sure if this was a good thing or not.

Obviously Albus had taken quite a while to think things through. While the Maker was all for letting people accommodate themselves to being dead, there wasn't that much time left. He had to frame these portraits and send them out, only after verifying Albus could safely walk through to each canvas. The Maker cleared his throat. "Lemon Drop?"

Albus Dumbledore was pulled out of his daydreaming by two simple words. His eyes sprung open, and he glanced at the table near his chair. His eyes glistened with tears. "Thank you…" He whispered, his arm already reaching out to take one.

"It was the least I could do."

"And the locket?"

"I am sure by now that Potter and his friends are wondering who in the world RAB is."

"Good. Now, I can rest." With that, Albus Dumbledore closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

It was a few days later when the Master arrived at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It had been a long time since he'd been here, since Armando Dippet had died and he had made _his _portrait. Gripping Albus's portrait tightly, and double checking the protective sheet was still on tight, he entered the headmaster's – no, the headmistresses - office, and found Minerva staring back at him. He quickly checked his disguised appearance, then spoke. "I'm here with the portrait, Professor."

"Ah. Yes. Thank you." Professor McGonagall looked out of sorts. "I think, you know where… Here's where he goes." She pointed faintly to an empty spot on the wall.

"Very well, Professor." It didn't take him long to mount the frame. He took off the protective sheet, which displayed Dumbledore napping in his chair. Albus squinted in his sleep at the light, and opened his eyes.

"Albus… you're home now." Minerva said, gently.

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"I'll be going now, then," The Maker went toward the door that would lead him out.

Minerva reached out to him, and touched his arm. She brought forward a glass bowl of candy. "Would you like a lemon drop, Mr…"

"Mr. Toth. And yes, I would be delighted." He reached his hand out toward the bowl of lemon drops, and picked one out. He looked up toward Albus, who winked at him. He too, was currently unwrapping one of his favorite sweets. Smiling, he popped his into his mouth. The sweet and sour taste he received was extraordinary. He finally understood what it was about these sweets that Albus liked so much.

Smiling, he turned around, and exited the room, hoping for McGonagall's sake it would be a long time before he had to return to _this_ particular location.

Although he wondered…. Would there be lemon drops then, too?

**A/N. I had to come up with a few spells...and I Googled Latin Translations to find something suitable. If any of you have background in Latin, or have an awesome idea for what could be used instead, let me know! _Animus Asylum_ - literally, "Soul Shelter" and _Anima Nascere_ , "Soul be Born."**  
><strong>Did I mention I don't speak Latin?<strong>

**Toth: Egyptian God of a lot of things, and associated with the judgment of the dead, he's been associated with Hermes, the Greek messenger god who was amongst other things, guide to the underworld. I thought "Mr. Hermes" would have been too obvious, not to mention awkward.**

**Finally, please review! I have many more stories in mind, and I hope they can find a home here...**


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